Exile 2 Trapped in a Routine Plot
by brassmonki
Summary: Just your typical story of an exiled prince searching for help. But he when he finds it, he begins to realise that he's got more than he bargained for. Well I'll be damned. It really is typical.
1. 1

Disclaimer: I don't own SSBM. At least I don't think I do. I could, but may suffer from amnesia, or I don't remember owning it. Or maybe I have a split personality, and one of them owns it whilst I just write stupid little fanfics about it. Hmm. Best to be on the safe side and say I don't own it. Mainly because I know I'm enough of a bastard to sue myself for the cash I might have.  
  
Hello everyone. Glad to see all my old readers have come back to take a look at my latest offering. And also good to see a few new faces. For those of you who are new to the Exile series of, um, two books, I suggest you go read the first one. Don't worry, it's a quick read. Anyway, on with the show...   
  
...hope you all brought popcorn...  
  
...or at least a beer...  
  
...well whatever's good for you...  
  
...I'll shut up now.  
  
Exile 2 - Trapped in a Routine Plot  
  
Typical weather for an open plain on the eve of an adventure seemed unwilling to budge for this occasion. This meant that the sun was high in the sky like a huge ball of burning gas in the distance, and a gentle breeze swayed the long grass, rippling up the field like a green wave, giving the impression of a huge rolling green lake. The occasional cloud drifted along with the breeze, also seeming to enjoy the fine weather it was not ruining by rain. A bird would sometimes cross the open sky looking for something to eat, or at least a field mouse to victimize for the day.  
  
Seemingly unaware of the sunbathing clouds were two horsemen, riding side by side. One a former prince on a mission, one a fully employed Hero of Time on temporary sabbatical for removing the one great evil of his land. The former rode on a pure white charger, the latter on a fiery chestnut mare. Occasionally the white stallion would sidle up suggestively to the mare, only to be kicked back when the riders were not looking.  
  
After another failed attempt to get cozy with the fiery chestnut, the white horse simply gave up. He had been giving up on a lot of things lately. Like his rider's sanity. After a fortnight on the road after a hard fought battle and a brief but interesting duel with a powerful sorcerer, he was back on the road. Oh there had been the occasional turnip at that stop from grateful townsfolk, but the idiot had left *two days* after his fight. Two damn days! Barely enough time for the horse to get acquainted with the stable boy and to indicate his fondness for sugar cubes. He did not even get the chance to introduce himself to a few of the local mares. Not only that, but he had spent most of the time getting the dried blood off of his obsidian hooves.  
  
But there was a glimmer of hope. The strange forest and pointy-eared inhabitants of Hyrule were left far behind in his hoof prints. And he was more than happy to leave a place where he had been shot at five minutes after he arrived. The nice stable people had also repaired his surcoat, and replaced the silk lining with some suede leather. Although it was not as soft on his coat as the silk, it would last longer, and would also be less embarrassing should the other stallions find out. A horse had to keep up his reputation.  
  
The blue-haired one was vaguely aware his noble steed kept sidling up to his companion's mount, but he was preoccupied with other thoughts. Such as where he was, how he got there, why he was there, and why the hell was the blonde following him?   
  
The first three questions he had a good answer for. He was in the middle of a large field. A very large field. In fact, if he looked into the distance in any direction, all he would be able to see would be field. He felt quite comfortable with this. He being able to see for miles in any direction meant he would have ample warning if there were any would-be attackers. On the downside, he had no idea if the direction they were heading in would lead to a town or even if there was anything beyond the horizon except a cliff and maybe the odd cow.  
  
How he got there was always a fun topic for his memory to parade in front of his eyes. His request for assistance at the court of Hyrule had been politely, and yet firmly, declined. Based on his actions in the happy little land he was not surprised. If anyone had released a great evil in Altea and had failed to put it right, he himself would not have eager to hand over an army. No matter how honest the man's face looked. And the furtive glances the princess had given him indicated another reason why the king had wanted him out of country. He could understand fully. Although if he knew those glances were to make sure that the blue haired prince was not stealing anything, he doubted if it would have made a better impression.  
  
So now he had to continue his merry quest. His own land had been invaded and had been occupied since he was only little. He had tried to take it back once with a small force that had its roots in a small island province. His force had steadily grown, taking back much of his homeland. But then he made a mistake. And his army had been forced into a retreat. And all that was left of his country and his army was him. And now the small island province which had given him his start had fallen to his enemy. So he traveled now to find a country willing to help him.   
  
And as his old friend had always said, 'You travel long enough in one direction; you're bound to pick up a friend or two'.  
  
That would be the how and why he was trotting along under the warm sun. Now, the only way he would find out why old pointy-ears had come along for the ride was that he would have to resort to conversation.  
  
Oddly enough, his companion started it before he did. "You know... that cloud there... looks like a cloud."  
  
The blue haired one looked at the offending clump of hovering water molecules. "Yup. Definitely like a cloud."  
  
"Very cloud-like."  
  
"A prime example of cloudage."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
There was a long drawn-out pause.   
  
"The only reason I mention it is..."  
  
"What?" The blue one said, idly batting away a sprite. He swore that the bloody thing was following him.  
  
"You've said bugger-all since we set out from Hyrule. Got a problem?"  
  
"No," the man in blue lied.  
  
The blond one shook his head, "You're lying. Now there's two ways this could go. One, you tell me what's bothering you."  
  
"And the other wa- argh!" The blonde one stood in his saddle and launched himself at the exiled prince, tackling him out of the saddle, both of them hitting the ground rolling. Perhaps we should say who were the participants of the wrestling match on the grassy floor? The one currently on top would be Link, Hero of Time, Defender of Hyrule, and general all around good guy. He had a number of other titles, such as the king of Hyrule's favourite, that damned Kokiri kid with the sword, but he usually didn't bother with formalities. When you're knee deep in a giant tuna's guts you don't have a lot of time for titles.  
  
The one currently elbowing Link in the stomach would be Prince Marth Lowell of Altea. He, on the other hand, had spent a lot of his childhood learning titles. Such as Grand Vizier, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and other similar grandiose names to mean people who kept the country running. But then the invasion had taken place, and titles gave way to designations of knights and archers, and other names to mean people who tried to stop a country working. He had become a skilled tactician and warrior, and had managed to find the legendary weapon of his country. But without an army to back him up, all of his skills and even the nifty-looking sword had failed to save his people.  
  
The horses circled their riders, silently placing a bet with each other that their rider would win. Since horses did not have a lot of personal possessions beyond what was on them, they had decided to gamble away grass. And in field this big the stakes were staggering.   
  
After a full ten minutes of hand to hand combat, Link came out on top. "So..." he panted, "What's ... bugging... you?"  
  
"Get... off... me... and... I'll tell you."  
  
Link rolled off him, and both lay side by side staring up at the cloud which had sparked their conversation. Marth took a deep breath, and began to tell Link about his tale. Of how he had been forced from his country. Of how he had wandered forth to find help etc. etc. You've heard the story.  
  
When he finished, he turned his head to look sidelong at Link, "Why are you here though?"  
  
"Me?" said Link, looking slightly confused.  
  
"Yeah you. I don't remember asking you to help me."  
  
"Oh that. Well, you know how the king said that you were to receive no aid from Hyrule?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Well, he lied."  
  
"Yeah?" said Marth, more enthusiastically. If Hyrule could give him his start then he could return home and give his enemies the smiting they deserved. Yes, at the lead of the Hylean task force he could-  
  
"I'm it."   
  
-and Marth's dreams came tumbling down. "Oh." His imaginary horde of cut-throat Hyleans had been cut down to a solitary pointy-eared blond with a big sword, a bow and a terminally optimistic attitude.  
  
Link jumped to his feet, staring out into the distance. On the horizon he could see what looked like a castle.  
  
------------------------------  
  
A/N: Ok, I lied. Fox will not be turning up anytime soon, reason being I can't find a plausible excuse to go from swords and bows to missiles and blasters. Anyway, I'm back, and I apologize for the wait.  
  
As always best review gets a cookie.  
  
Thanks to Sherra-sama, who went through the hell of having to pre-read for me (grin). 


	2. 2

Disclaimer: If I owned Smash Bro. Melee there would most definitely have been a Tetris character. Why you ask, but more importantly, HOW?? Well, the why would be 'cause I enjoy a good challenge, and how? Well, like I said, I don't own Smash Bro. so I don't even have to try ^_^;;  
  
Ok, I suck. I'm sorry for putting this sub standard chapter out, even though I haven't posted in months. Er, just read it and I promise a better chapter for the next one. Anyway, I'm really tired right now (a combination of three days with 6hrs of sleep across them, digging a hole, laying a gas pipe in it, chopping a pile of wood the size of a challenger mk2 tank, moving a concrete coal bunker and hiking ten friggin miles a day), so even though flames are usually appreciated, they may be met with the wrath of someone who finds it hard to see the letters on his keyboard. Fear my blind wrath!  
  
Cookie goes to the guy who is most definitely not Dark Mangus, for making me smile.  
  
Chapter 2: Is it just me? Or is something very wrong with this place...  
  
The two rode into the castle grounds. There was no wall, just a pass between two hills. Before them stood a white stone castle with a selection of decorative stained glass windows. There was one large spire in the centre, with two wings of to each side. There was a moat, but it looked as though it had been drained dry of water. Off to the East there was an equally drained looking lake, with a few fish falloping around in the shallows. It takes quite a lot of effort to fallop, and a number of the fish were giving up, even as Link took his hookshot and grabbed a few for later.  
  
This castle was not one for defence, it was where someone lived. Which would be all right in itself, but it was lacking a key feature of a monarchs home. Even when the sovereign was not around, there was a good deal of traffic, be it lesser royals, politicians, or just the servants who generally kept the place running. But this castle was dead quiet. Even the birds had left. There was no sound but the fall of water from a water fall to the West of the castle.   
  
Link dismounted as he reached the small bridge that crossed the empty moat. Epona whinnied slightly. She was uneasy. Unlike the others in their party, she had a very practical mind when it came to scary situations. That was, let the idiot elf-boy go and get killed in some god-forsaken dungeon, whilst I munch on the grass. It had been a good plan, and had stood her in good stead throughout her 'adventures'. But she did not relish the prospect of waiting outside with the blue haired one's horse.  
  
Marth's horse did not whinny. He barely made a sound. Experience had taught him that in places where there was not even the chirrup of a sparrow, it was not wise to make a sound. You never know what might hear you in the silence. Besides, he was confident in his ability to fight whatever came his way. After all he was a proud Altean war horse, a cut above the lesser breeds of horse.. He had been in a few battles in his day, and had even felt the bones of a few masters among men under his hooves. He was also supremely confident that he could out run whatever came out of the building.  
  
Marth dismounted. His horse nudged him on the shoulder with his nose, cocking his head with a questioning look. Marth nodded, and the white charger snorted a command at Epona, and wandered a short way down the path. He might be needed later, but for now he was going to find a suitable hill to hide behind. His previous owner had been a petard, an idiot who takes barrels of gunpowder to castle walls. The prince didn't have any gun powder, but he had no doubt that if something angered him enough there would be fireworks. Ether way, he wanted several metres of rock between him and that castle. Flying flag stones was something you experienced once, and then you learnt about the cavalry core.  
  
Marth scanned the castle grounds. Utter quiet. Eerie did not quite cut it. It as like the world had just stopped for a while. This probably meant that all the action was going on inside the castle. Marth hated fighting in a castle. For one thing, you could not ride a horse, and the extra height the horse could give you was often the difference between a fatal blow and a flesh wound. But despite everything, there were a few butterflies. This did not help Marth with the uneasiness in his gut. The butterflies just seemed creepy.  
  
Link gestured for Marth to do something. Marth opened his eyes widely as if to say 'Why me?!' Link pointed to Marth's tiara, cocking his head to the side and grinning. Marth shot him a look, clearly indicating it was a circlet and NOT a tiara, and just because he happened to be royalty did NOT mean he led from the front. Which was technically a lie, he did lead from the front, but he shouldn't have too was his point.  
  
Marth stepped up to the normal sized door. Which was odd. He expected a large door, one that would allow a large amount of traffic in and out. Even a set of double doors would be nice. Anything that would state clearly that this place was in fact normal would be nice. Christ, even a fire breathing two-hundred foot bunny with bat wings and a sign saying "THIS IS NORMAL" would be good.  
  
He placed a hand on Falchion drawing it in one fluid motion, his gaze intent on the door. He placed a hand on the door handle. His blade began to glow faintly, as it reacted to the tension from his owner. Purple mist seemed to condense around the blade as it charged with magical energy.  
  
A cough from Link made him turn around. Link was staring at him with a raised eyebrow, indicating the agitated sword. Marth followed his gaze to the drawn weapon. Ashamed he put it back in it's sheath. This was just odd. No need to get defensive, especially with drawn weapons. What kind of impression would that make on the inhabitants, 'Hello, I'm a sword wielding lunatic, are we in time for supper?' He gripped the door handle, and flung it open, feeling a guilty pleasure as the sprite following him got caught in the air current.  
  
The inside of the castle was almost dead. Almost dead. It had the same quiet of the grave, the same cold chill you associate with death. But the walls were all spotless, not a cobweb in sight. The floor looked as though it had been carefully mopped and swept, so that the white marble gleamed. Marth stepped in, despite the ominous feelings, and his better instincts telling him to head for the hills. But there was good light, slanting in through the windows. Everywhere was bright, and sunny. It was like someone had just removed the people. And the huge paintings on the walls did not exactly fit into his opinion of fine art.  
  
But in another way, it felt as though there was life around. Hidden away. Link followed in Marth's footsteps, hookshot held nonchalantly at his side. If questioned he would simply say he had it out when he was fishing, but the truth was, although he had thought it wrong when Marth had dawn his sword, he wanted a weapon at his side. He would be the first to admit he was not the brightest spark plug in the motor, but the unwary did not survive Ganon's dungeons.  
  
The world felt as though it was simply paused. Link was starting to regret his decision to make Marth open the door. They should have just grabbed some fish and then made for the field again.   
  
There was a picture of a bomb on the wall. Or what Link recognised as a bomb. But this one had little feet, and eyes. It was black and seemed to be on the march. But that was pretty much lost on the keen sighted Hylain. The picture was rippling. Like someone had dropped a stone in the centre of a lake, only this lake was made from canvas and oil paint. And was hanging on a wall.  
  
Marth looked at Link when he heard the shouts that were coming from the painting. Link looked at him. Marth raised his eyebrow questioningly. Link nodded, and Marth drew Falchion, which glowed the second it was free from the scabbard. Link drew the Master Sword, his shield sliding out onto his other hand, held in a defensive posture. Both swordsman sidled to either side of the rippling picture.  
  
There was screaming. Two voices. And they were closing rapidly. Marth nervously adjusted his grip on Falchion, the blade now dripping with a purple haze. The sprite which had been following him was flying around his head in wide elliptical patterns, nearly over dosing on the magical energy.  
  
The screams got louder. The ripples grew more intense. There was a flash!  
  
And two figures were spat out of the picture like a well chewed piece of bubblegum. Why bubblegum? Because they landed with a soft thud, and because they were so entangled they looked like a small green red and blue mound. A small cursing green red and blue mound. A small cursing green red and blue mound that was furiously kicking itself.  
  
"You stupid idiot!" A thick Italian accent uttered from the mound. The green part of the mound was finally freed from the other part of itself, revealing two men. One short portly man, bushy moustache and red shirt, another lanky man, green shirt and an identical moustache.   
  
"It's not my fault!" The green one protested.  
  
"You let that small bomb thing sneak up on us!"  
  
"It didn't sneak up on us, it flew through the damned air!"  
  
"Oh and I guess it was shot out of a canon then?"  
  
"How the bloody hell should I know?"  
  
"Because you were supposed to be on watch while I dealt with the goombas!"  
  
"Look it literally fell from the sky!"  
  
"Argh! Allright, let's get back in there!"  
  
"Fine by me!"  
  
"Er... excuse me?"  
  
"What!" both men shouted at the same time. They borth looked confused for a moment, and then finally noticed the two swordsmen.  
  
"Well," continued Marth, "I would just like clarification on the fact that you two just happened to jump out of the picture."  
  
"Yes," the small plump one replied, "Yes we did."  
  
"And that this castle is deserted?"  
  
The green one looked around, "Looks that way."  
  
"One more question..."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"JUST WHO IN THE HELL ARE YOU?!"  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
Author's notes: Ok, it's not great I know. Anyway, since you've kindly read my fic, do you think you fine people could go have a look at this shiny new site: www.fictionised.net  
  
Pre-read by Monkey-san.   
  
This weeks cookie will double chocolate, and will be given to best reviewer ^_^ 


	3. 3

Disclaimer: And so it was, the dark and brooding Brass came to write his disclaimer. Long and hard did he doth deliberate with himself upon the most original and witty way to lay aside any doubt of his non-existent ownership. Many an hour did he spend contemplating which comedic styles to use. Thousands of pencils died to his methodical chewing as he pondered such an integral part of his fic. So it's a wonder as to why he came up with this: I don't own Super Smash Bro. Melee.  
  
Welcome to my authors notes! This is the part of the fic where I blindly fumble around with words in an effort to stall actually writing about the fic. Here is also where I dispense the cookie. Cookie goes to GundamAzurain. I had a good reason way back when I got it. But I kind of forgot it ^_^;;  
  
Now again, I sucketh mightily for making you all wait for this chapter. I also suck for forgetting to work in a little romance into the plot, so I'm thinking of doing a little epilogue for the first part of Exile to put in the angst we all love to read. Let me know if you want me to do that, or if the fic is good enough without it. Still sucks though. It'll get better soon, I promise.  
  
Ok we cut to fic now....  
  
*********  
  
"Er... excuse me?"  
  
"What!" both men shouted at the same time. They looked confused for a moment, and then finally noticed the two swordsmen.  
  
"Well," continued Marth, "I would just like clarification on the fact that you two just happened to jump out of the picture."  
  
"Yes," the small plump one replied, "Yes we did."  
  
"And that this castle is deserted?"  
  
The green one looked around, "Looks that way."  
  
"One more question..."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"JUST WHO IN THE HELL ARE YOU?!"  
  
-------------------  
  
Chapter 3: Side Tracked  
  
------------------  
  
"It's-a me, Mario!"  
  
The lanky man in the green plumbers uniform rolled his eyes and sighed, "And I'm Luigi, his brother by some cruel twist of fate. Do you have to do the stupid accent every time you say that?"  
  
Mario glanced at Luigi, a hurt expression flashing past, before being replaced by his usual grin. Luigi pretended not to notice, absent minded dusting his plumber suit. Mario shrugged, and turned back to the swordsman. Slowly it began to dawn on him that they were both armed and holding their weapons in a ready position. "Luigi run! Bowser's got some real fighters!" he screamed.  
  
Luigi was about to protest, when Mario grabbed his collar and sprinted for the nearest door, dragging the taller man behind him. It was locked. He ran to the next, and found *that* was locked as well. Eventually he settled for just running. Marth and Link looked on with profound confusion as the plumber ran around the room dragging the furious Luigi behind him, the green clad plumber cursing the air blue.  
  
"Hey Marth?" Link asked.  
  
"Yeah Link?" Marth replied, sheathing the angry Falchion. Yes, his sword was angry. It had been dreaming of a cute pair of stiletto knives he had seen a while back, only to be disturbed from this recurring fantasy not once, but twice, both for a false alarm. It showed it's displeasure by making it difficult for his owner to put it back in it's sheath.  
  
"Is this normal for foreign parts?"  
  
"No," Marth assured him, struggling with the errant sword, "This is most definitely not normal behaviour."  
  
"I see. I wouldn't ask, except every time I've ventured outside Hyrule's border I've been caught up in some kind of crazy adventure where a lot of people have tried to kill me."  
  
"Well, is this any better?"  
  
Link considered this. "Well... at least the guys that were trying to kill me weren't this... silly," he finished diplomatically, sliding the Master sword easily into it's sheath, slipping his shield around his shoulders. Marth shrugged. "So what do we do now?" Link inquired.  
  
"Well, it's like a wild horse isn't it? Just wait until the bastard gets tired. Then we might be able to talk to him."  
  
"I see."  
  
They watched the pair of plumbers do a few more laps of the room.  
  
Link sighed.   
  
"This could take some time..."  
  
---------------------  
  
Bowser paced up and down the secluded castle chamber. He thought of it as a chamber. It was better than thinking of it as what it was, which would just be one of the castles many guest bedrooms.   
  
He stopped his pacing to take another glance around the room. To be honest, this was the first time he had tried to take the Mushroom Kingdom by simply taking up residence in the palace. He had saved millions on minion costs, and his arch nemesis hadn't even heard of his bloodless coup. Peach was safely locked up ready for the torture chamber, his koopas had taken what they wanted in terms of loot and were already back home. It had been the perfect crime.  
  
He was already thinking it wasn't the best idea he had ever had. What was the point in being an evil mastermind if you didn't have at least a little style. Just walking in and effectively mugging a country was just plain tasteless. He missed the grandness of hordes of koopa troopas marching past terrified Toads, paratroopas swooping down on unsuspecting subjects of the Mushroom Kingdom.   
  
But what he missed most was his old nemesis. He growled in frustration. Mario could have at least done him the courtesy of mounting a small resistance. Bowser was forced to send a fake letter to him offering a cake to get him to the castle.  
  
And that's were it started to go wrong. For one thing, he had brought his brother along with him. It had amused him at first watching them quarrel through the puzzles he had set up throughout the castle. He had rolled on the floor laughing his shell off when they failed to get past the first world. He had almost died when instead of working together, the ended up throwing bo-bombs at each other.  
  
That had been a week ago. Now he was just plain annoyed. They still had yet to get past his first land of tricks, which was simply borderline pathetic. And he was here, watching them on various security cameras, getting more frustrated by the second. If his old foe was this stupid now, then it would be a simple matter to stomp down to meet him and kick him into submission. But things had to be done properly. He had to wait for Mario to come to him. That's what being Bowser meant. You did it by the book, worked in set patterns, made sure the hero would get to you eventually. It was just how the game was played.  
  
He really wished he could break the rules just this once...  
  
And he really really wished his so-called chamber wasn't painted pink.  
  
--------------------  
  
It was night now. Marth was sitting against a wall, dosing in the twilight, strategically placed so that he was partly illuminated by a shaft of moonlight creeping in through a window. The shadows and moonlight all added to the brooding hero effect that was the bane (and secret pride) of his life. However, the drool slowly sliding down from the corner of his mouth detracted from his sombre pose.  
  
Link was leaning up against a wall, well hidden in the shadows, still wide awake. Tapping his foot. Arm's folded tightly around him. Eye brow twitching dangerously. Absolutely mad as hell. Because he had been waiting for hours now.  
  
And the two plumbers were still running around the room, Mario still managing to scream his head off. Luigi had given up the shouting and merely allowed Mario to drag him around by his collar, a look of absolute disdain on his face. Still running around.  
  
And around.  
  
And around.  
  
And around. Link's eyebrow twitch increased in twitches per minute.  
  
And around.  
  
And around. Link's foot stopped tapping. Never a good sign.  
  
And around.  
  
And aro- "I've had enough of this!" Link shouted. He whipped out his hook shot, and fired it directly into the floor just in front of the plumbers, sparks flying from the metal on stone contact. Mario, unable to stop his insane dash, tripped over the steel chain, slamming into the floor like a sack of muscle and bones.  
  
The noise broke snapped Marth out of his dosing, his hand already at his sword as he opened his eyes. His curious gaze settled on the crumpled mess of plumber on the floor. "Got tired did they?"  
  
Link retracted his chain, "Something like that," he said innocently. He snatched the dazed Mario off the ground, pining him to a handy wall, "Now, we get to talk... heh heh heh." Link's evil grin told Marth everything he needed to know about the little chat.  
  
He tried to ignore the plump little man's whimpers, focussing on his brother. Unlike the Shorter one he seemed to have a highly calculating look in his eye, as if he was weighing up everything and everyone around him. He could tell he was particularly interested in Marth and Link by the fact he never even glanced at them. That was the mark of someone so good at observation he wouldn't find himself out of place in the KGB.  
  
Marth knew his type from the Altean court. He was the smart younger brother of a courageous warrior, the kind often looked down on by warrior types. But smart Kings of Altea had learnt that these men were often the most dangerous. With their quick minds and powers of observation they were the number one cause of political controversy, using their skills to further the influence of their older less politically aware siblings.   
  
Link coughed, a sign that his brief conversation with Mario was concluded. Marth took one last look at Luigi; he would have to keep an eye on that one.   
  
"He say's he's come to rescue the Princess of this kingdom."  
  
"Princess?"  
  
"Yeah, going by the name of Pear-"  
  
"Peach," Mario mumbled.  
  
"Right, Peach. He say's she's been taken hostage by someone called Bowser, and that it's his duty to save her."  
  
"Princess..." Marth repeated thoughtfully.  
  
"Oh, and that Bowser is some kind of fire breathing, trap setting dragon."  
  
"Princess..."  
  
"Marth? You've gone all thoughtful on me."  
  
"It's just that a Princess is often the daughter of a King."  
  
"Generally speaking-"  
  
"And king's tend to be in command of armies."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"And if we were to save said Pear-"  
  
"Peach," Mario corrected.  
  
"... said Peach, then said King may be grateful enough to offer us his army in defence of his homeland?"  
  
Link shrugged, "He might."  
  
Marth turned to Mario, "Guess we'll be giving you a hand then."  
  
Luigi raised an eyebrow, "Your valour amazes me."  
  
Marth frowned. The truth was he was getting more and more mercenary in his approach to his problems. In days gone by he would have simply drawn Falchion and made a fool out of himself by charging through all his obstacles. It was a far more honourable approach to rescue, and at the least garunteed marks for effort. Not like now when his first reaction was to calculate how he could turn the situation in his favour.  
  
He shook himself. Now was not the time for second guessing his motives or actions. He had a job in front of him, and whether or not the honour in his intentions was in question, a life was a stake. He could not afford the inaction caused by doubt.  
  
He cleared his throat, "Even so," he affected the generic pose for declaring his word in suitably dramatic fashion, drawing Falchion with a flash, "I am Marth, Prince of Altea. And I swear to you that I will save your princess, even at the cost of my own life, if needs be."  
  
Link would later swear he could see sparkles forming in the air around Marth as he made his declaration. Mario was too lost in the momment to comment effectively. Luigi's response went unnoticed by all. He simply folded his arms and looked down. "Indeed," he said to the floor.  
  
*******  
  
Author's ego trip: Ok, it is pretty damn crap at the momment, but as the story progresses I can stop worrying about plot holes and just get caught up in the action, which improves my writing no end. Although I am rather proud of the way I fixed the end to this. Anyway, if I could just take a momment of your precious time to rant a bit.   
  
Author's rant: Why is it people have forgotten to write in prose, and what's with all these plotless insanity fests, and why must every second fanfic be an en masse self-insert job, getting characters by begging other authors to review so they can be put in, and why must everyone forget how to spell/speak english/use good punctuation/ write a coherent sentence (god forbid), and just what is the deal with lifting crappy tv shows and making equally crappy fan fics out of them, reality tv never provides good quality on the screen so why must they fill up the net with them, and what is up with those damned authors who rant incessantly even when they only update their fic EVERY OTHER MONTH!!!!!!!!!! *pant*pant*pant* Ok...*pant*... I'm done now.  
  
Ok, in all seriousness, best reviewer wins a cookie. Flames will be used to bake said cookie, so please do flame. Otherwise I'll have to hand out cookie dough, and that gets my hands all sticky.   
  
Pre-read by the idiot author.  
  
That's it I'm off to bed.  
  
You still here? 


	4. 4

Disclaimer: Despite the fact I know it should be the other way around, I always start a new chapter of this fic with the disclaimer- usually immediately after I have submitted the newest chapter to the public. This is my way of both denying the fact that I own the crap I've posted, and it also helps me to not look back on what I have written, so I can get through the next chapter without the burning desire to re-write the whole damn thing. Anyway, I don't own Smash Bros. Melee. Yet. He he he...

Several months later Another way I get through the guilt of not writing anything for months on end is to write these pointless author's notes, where I apologise for not writing in an eon or two, dispense the cookie (goes to backsplash007 for being such a loyal supporter), bitch about the fact the chapter is crap (lacking any kind of actual drive in this one) and then apologise for said crapness.

And all before I get to the actual fic.

Moving on.

Chapter 4: Platforming Hell

The castle was still. And silent. The quiet that enveloped the palace was such that you could hear the breaking of a mouse's heart. But it was not a peaceful quiet. It was a lack of sound that seemed to demand filling up. It was as though there was not merely an absence of sound, but a vacuum of noise, desperately clawing at any passing sounds to relieve the tension.

In fact, that summed up the silence in one. It was tense.

A rodent of some description skittered across the marble floor. It had been trying times for this small creature. The usual supply of scraps that were a common feature of this castle was no longer around. It had been able to scratch out a living in days gone by, by sneaking into larders and stealing what it could before the cook threw something at it, and if the cook's aim was particularly good and he couldn't make it to the larders, there was always the passing strike on the funny walking mushrooms.

But recently even the mushroom things had disappeared. Sure they tasted nasty and screamed like banshees every time it got a bit of one, but it was better than nothing. The rodent sighed a special kind of rodent sigh. It meant that maybe it was time to get out of here, find a new place to get food, and maybe start a family. It skittered across the floor, coming to a rest underneath a painting.

It sniffed the air. Something not quite right in the air here.

The picture began to shimmer. The rodent did have a rodent's sense of practicality, and promptly fled from the painting, and from the story entirely. For the record, it did find a new home, started a family and was responsible for an entirely new colony springing up in a fortress in the desert. Then it was eaten by a cat. Such is the fate of rodent heroes.

The painting rippled faster, and a plump short plumber was spat out grasping a shining gold object in his hand. He hit the ground awkwardly and skidded across the marble coming to a halt about ten yards from the picture. The picture rippled faster again and this time, Luigi came flying out, rolling as he it the ground, stopping just before he hit Mario.

They both sat there panting for a moment. Mario grinned, and showed Luigi the glowing object. It was a star. A shining gold star with a pair of eyes. It seemed to hover just above his hands. Luigi gazed at it, and grinned a mischievous little grin. Both plumbers let out a half breathed laugh.

But Mario's eyes grew concerned, "Where are the other two?"

The painting rippled again, and Link came flying out backwards, his hook shot extending into the now boiling painting. He hit the ground on his feet, and was immediately dragged back towards the painting. Mario and Luigi looked at each other and leapt up to grab the skidding elf.

Link cursed and began to haul on the hook shot. Weighed down by the two brothers he was able to stop his slow slide back towards the picture. The chain was still embedded in the rolling canvas and had begun to creak. Slowly the chain was dragged back, and a hand appeared out of the painting, gripping the chain so tightly the knuckles were white.

The hand was followed by an arm, and soon the entire top half of the prince of Altea could be seen, his expression grim with the effort. Link could contain himself no more, "You just had to go back for them didn't you?!" he growled as he tugged on the chain.

Marth said nothing, instead straining his eyes into the painting trying to catch a glimpse of the world he had just left. Link shook his head, the tension on the chain becoming too much for his fatigued arms. "Damn it! You two keep a hold on him!"

The plumbers did as they were told, and Link suddenly let go of the chain, pulling his bow as if from no where and notching an arrow. Taking aim so as not to hit Marth he let loose the arrow firing into the picture. There was a momentary scream of pain, and the force pulling on the chain was suddenly released. The result was Marth being catapulted out of the picture colliding with the two plumbers still clutching the hook shot, scattering bodies and equipment everywhere.

All the members of the party remained where they were, panting for a bit, as the events slowly settled down, each one coming down from the adrenaline rush in their own way. A sprite buzzed hesitantly above the group, unsure if there would be further excitement.

Marth rose to his feet, "Well, I got it," he said wearily, pulling another shining star from his belt pouch and tossing it to the plumbers. Mario grabbed it quickly, as the star began to accelerate upwards intent on escape.

"Look Marth, it was adequately explained to you. We go in. We grab one star. We get out," Link recited patiently. "Now, how many stars are we supposed to grab before every single walking mushroom and talking bomb gets wise and try to kill us?"

"One," Marth said carefully. He began to back away from the green clad elf. But he wasn't quick enough. Link leapt forward, grabbed him by the front plate of his armour and slammed him full force into the wall.

"So why is it every time we go in you see something shiny and we end up carving our way through hordes of bad guys!" he yelled two inches from Marth's face.

Marth sighed. This had been the fourth day in what he had found to be his personalised version of hell. The reason he was having such a lousy time was the plain fact that a lot of the things they were doing seemed so very pointless and needlessly annoying. Coupled with the Mario Bros. insistence that they follow the set formula of get stars, open star doors, get more stars, open more star doors, rinse, repeat etc.

Marth just wasn't built for all this jumping around on platforms. Link had taken to it like a duck to water, swinging from platform to platform, hook shotting his way well ahead of the group. Even the two brothers managed in their own slightly comical way. But Marth, who had worn heavy armour since he was eight years old and wasn't about to take it off any time soon, was finding it hard to bounce around the way the other three did.

It was getting slightly frustrating. And Marth knew what that meant. In a few more days it would be very frustrating. And after another few days it would be irritating. And after that... there would be trouble. Which was why he always took the opportunity to grab as many stars on the way out as he could, least they spend longer in, what he liked to call, platforming hell.

But he just smiled at Link and said, "Well, you know I like to stack the odds against myself."

Link glared at him, then turned to the plumbers, "So, how many more do we need to go see this Bowser friend of yours?"

"He's not our friend," spat Luigi.

"Figure of speech Luigi," said Mario reproachfully, "And that little stunt by you Mr. Prince has gotten us through to him."

Marth smiled in a smug fashion, prompting Link to glare at him even harder. "All right," Link said, "Let's go."

--------------------------

Meanwhile, out in the hideously huge field, two horses trotted along calmly. One was a pure white stallion, a well muscled war horse, unafraid of even the most deadly of flying bits of wood and sharp pointy things. He was a proud and noble charger, willing to give his all to defend his country. Although now he was giving his all, filling himself with grass.

The other horse was a fairly sharp minded chestnut mare. Although not as powerfully built as the warhorse next to her, she had seen her fair share of fights, and was the equal to the war horse in terms of bravery. And, although the war horse would probably not admit it, she was a lot smarter than her companion. Although at this point, her superior intellect was busy eating grass.

The sky was blue, as it had been for the past few days. After an initial gallop of freedom the two horses had settled down to just trotting where ever their hooves took them. Although you might think that a huge grassy plain that extended beyond the horizons in all direction might be paradise for most horses, these two were used to adventuring. Now, even though the sun shone beautifully and the perfect amount of white puffy clouds drifted along lazily, they were bored.

Suddenly the white charger stopped munching grass. He looked up, and looked back to the spot on the horizon where the castle was. He cocked his head to the side as if considering something.

He whinnied something in horse to his companion, who just looked at him as if he was the most stupid animal on four hooves. The stallion shrugged, which is impressive on an animal with four legs. He waited a few more moments. Yes, now was the right time.

And started to gallop back towards the castle.

The chestnut mare looked at his rapidly retreating form. She offered a curse to all males, and charged after him.

--------------------------

Author's Notes: For anyone who reads these, I was just looking back on all the reviews I got for this fic. I don't think I deserved half of them, and a lot of them make me out to be better than I am. But, they got me to the end of the story. For that I can only say thank you. And give cookies of course. On that note, cookie goes to backsplash007 for being one of my most loyal readers (although I doubt you're still hanging around to read this ;) )

Hopefully the next chapter will be out a lot quicker than this one was, but considering how long it took me to update this, that won't be that hard... so I guess I'll see you all again with the next decade :)

Thanks for reading :)


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